The Void
by Syrtis
Summary: There is a place a country can visit only if it sinks so low it can never return to Earth. We call it the Void.
1. Fear

I never felt empty.

Coach Wilson would say otherwise. He'd pull me out at halftime, stare me down, and say, "Al, is your head in the game? Is it really?" I'd tell him "yes, sir". And that would be the end of it. Coach knew I was the best player on the team. The best player he'd ever had. He knew nothing would get my head _out_ of the game. I guess he just wanted to be sure.

I didn't know it either, but my personality, my opinions, my being as a whole, was superficial. There was nothing past the looks. No twisted alter ego, no psychotic, unstable mentality buried within. I was indifferent. I was shallow. Empty.

I played soccer like a machine. I lost, I won, what did it matter? Did I feel overwhelming joy at victory? Did I ever experience crushing defeat at a loss? I felt nothing. I was nothing. But my head was in the game, every game, every time.

This was the first game I felt something.

I was not indifferent, or shallow, or empty.

I felt something.

I felt fear.

And it disgusted me.


	2. Pain

Chapter 1: Pain

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><p>The beat of the drums echoed in my body. Was it the steady rhythm throwing off my concentration, or was it something else? I stopped running along the artificial grass and looked down at my feet; four faint shadows grew at even angles away from me. Were they all different people's shadows, or was it my imagination?<p>

I cursed silently. I'd never gotten so distracted during a game. The quarterfinals at the Fifa World Cup. It was laughable. The game was closing in on forty-two minutes; almost halftime. I was the best forwarder in the league and not a single goal had been made. We were up against Russia, a formidable team, but their left defense was losing luster, so a goal would've been easy by now. But it's like my head was in the clouds. I wasn't thinking straight. I was fine before the match. Ever since it started, I'd had a bad feeling. I suppose you could call it an instinct. Something was going to happen. I didn't know if it was to me or someone else, or to all of us. I prayed for the whistle to blow.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"The matter with you, Al?" The goalkeeper, Dominic, huffed. I sighed.

"I think I'm sick," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. I wasn't really lying, either. The locker room began to warm up with the entrance of over a dozen sweaty men exhausted from the fight on the field. I felt claustrophobic with all the guys leaning over me like I'd done something wrong. Truthfully, I hadn't really done _anything_.

"Hell no, America, don't back out on us," Another teammate begged. I didn't bother remembering his or anyone's name. That's why they were on their backs, right?

"Guys, guys," I said, standing up. They immediately backed a foot away. "I'm not leaving. Something's bothering me. I can't concentrate out there…"

"Take deep breaths," Dominic said. "Guys, we should leave him. He's just a little stressed. Hell, we all are, right?" A majority of the team nodded, acknowledging the goalie and I. A shuffling of lockers slamming shut and heavy footsteps running back out to the sidelines gradually began to dwindle until it was only Dominic and I. I could still hear the reverberation of the team's voices for some time. Dominic waited until they died out completely to speak. He was probably the closest to what you could call a "friend" for me.

"Al…" He said wearily. "We're counting on you." Dominic sat by me on the ice-cold, concrete edge. He leaned forward with his head in his hands. "… Four years ago, you came into the spotlight of soccer. I mean, look at you! You're twenty-four and you're already called 'The Face of America!'… Or 'America' for short."

I couldn't help but chuckle at this. Dominic was the oldest on the team, thirty, but somehow I couldn't think of him as the leader. All the weight was put on me just because I could kick a ball into a metal frame. Big deal.

"…Dom." It was the first time I was ever so hesitant. I sounded weak and I could feel my eyes watering, but I kept a steady tone. "Maybe… I think I'm gonna give up soccer."

I couldn't see Dominic's face because he was hunched forward, and I was thankful for that. I could imagine his veins growing in his forehead until they popped. I wasn't around for the last Fifa World Cup, but five years ago the U.S. made it to the semifinals and lost at eighty-six minutes all because Dom couldn't save the kick. The score was 2-to-3, and I could see he'd never let himself forget that.

Abruptly Dominic stood up and stormed over to a rack of spare soccer uniforms, all neatly lined up by last name. He tore the uniforms off in handfuls and scattered them across the light stone floor.

"Don't bullshit me that you're gonna make us lose the game just because you don't _feel _like playing anymore!"

"No, Dom, no!" I rushed up to his side, grasping his shoulder. He was breathing heavily. No… He was fuming with rage. I apologized over and over to him. He completely misunderstood what I meant. I'd still play this game. This last game.

But Dominic wouldn't listen. He thundered out the locker room, but not towards the field. He headed towards a hallway directly opposite the doors leading to where the match was to begin in five minutes. I had no idea where he was going, but I was too utterly pissed to care. I angrily sat back on the concrete seat and massaged my temple.

I could hear the drums beating evenly. They seemed to calm me down; my breathing returned to normal. Paying close attention to the smooth drumming, I gently returned to Dominic's mess of the uniforms and stood the rack back up. I'm not sure if it was because I was closer to the doors where he left me, but I could hear talking. The doors were incredibly thick, so the person must have been shouting, but why? Was it Dominic? I paid more attention to the dampened voice than to the drums. There were no windows in the entrance to the locker room, obviously, so I could only listen to the faint sounds coming from the other side.

For a moment I felt the drums get incredibly louder, but only for a moment. Then more voices; the drum's sound was even shriller the second time. The voices stopped all together.

I felt something in that moment. Emotion. It was a raw, real feeling.

Fear. I could feel the fear. The adrenaline in my body pumped faster than I could run. It crept up my spine and rendered me motionless. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. He was shot. Somehow I just knew. I knew Dominic was dead.

This is where, thankfully, my logical mentality came into the chaos and reasoned if they killed Dominic, they'd kill me too. Shaking, I looked around the room. Not many places to hide. The entire locker room had the area of roughly half a decently large house. The room was spaced generously to allow quick access to lockers and to skip the hassle of a cramped area. Much to my disadvantage, this left very few places to flee.

And don't think I'm stupid. Yes, I could've run out to the field and warned security about the intruders. But as soon as the idea popped in my head I heard the all-too-familiar sound of the hallway door creaking open. So, instead of being shot on sight while attempting to escape, I stayed as silent as possible and headed to the corner of the room farthest away from the corridor. There I waited for them to come get me.

I couldn't hear the footsteps because of the muffled songs and sounds outside just before the game was to continue. The drums, surprisingly, hadn't slowed a bit. I cursed at them because I'd never be able to tell where this person or these _people_ were in relation to me. Of course, I thought, in the darkest part of my subconscious, that if I knew where they were, I could escape out were they entered.

… Then it occurred to me. Who are they?

I crouched as low as I could and wrapped my arms around my body. I must've looked like a frightened child; well, that's how I felt. It was hide and seek, but the loser lost his head. I squeezed my eyes shut so tight my face began to throb. I just wanted them to do it.

And that's how it was, wasn't it? You're never as scared as you are the moments before something pops out at you. Those agonizing seconds are what petrify you the most. You're almost relieved when the monster jumps out, because you know it can't get any worse. But these people took it to the extreme. It'd felt like years of huddling over in this pathetic position, waiting for the end.

I felt a hand stroke the top of my head. I jerked upward, my heart overcome with horror; my breathing halted entirely. But as soon as I looked up I saw the face of a man. I noticed he was a blonde, like me, but nothing else.

Next thing I felt was pain. It was the most arresting feeling my body, especially my head, had ever endured. My vision blurred, but it looked like the man had hit me with the butt of his gun.

This day couldn't have gone better.

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><p>Thank you for reading.<p>

This is my first fanfiction of Hetalia. Well, it's ore of a spinoff. I haven't changed the characters, really, at all. But they're more of people than countries. I'd really appreciate reviews! Even if they were just opinions, that'd make me happy :P Keep reading, it'll pick up soon enough...


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